


An Unexpected Reunion

by Istezada



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: #TrentIkithonmustdie, But then this happened, Gen, I assume the rest of the Mighty Nein are there too, Personally I'd prefer that the Archmage of Civil Influence die a slow and terrible death, Scheiterhaufen, Scheiterhaufen is officially Caleb's nickname in my head, This was not an intentional fic, You're Welcome, whoops?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 01:15:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14631003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Istezada/pseuds/Istezada
Summary: What if Trent Ikithon, Archmage of Civil Influence, didn't notice his past catching up with him? What if his past had better things to do than return the favor of months of torture and years of madness? What if there was just... a snap?





	An Unexpected Reunion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serafinawitchwoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serafinawitchwoman/gifts).



The Archmage of Civil Influence glared at the junior monk, who’d just punched him in the mouth, and spat blood onto her boots. A blue-skinned tiefling, deceptively small demon-child that she was, had an unrelenting grip on his hands, and he couldn’t move his fingers enough to get a spell off. Not yet. “You have no idea, girl…”

“I think you will find that she does.”

A red-haired young man stepped further into the dying light of his study fire and tilted his head at Trent. There was something odd about him. Something not quite… right… in the angle of his gaze, or the way the embers reflected in his blue eyes, or the way one hand fidgeted, turning a diamond over and over and over in his palm. There was definitely nothing right about the goblin snarling at his side.

The young man’s lips moved. Started to form a word that never became audible.

“Master.”

A word with which Trent Ikithon was intimately familiar and comfortable and a word that was used on him by very few people in the Empire. How many red-haired young men had the Archmage known over the course of his life? How many promising boys had shattered, only to vanish years later?

“S…”

The monk backhanded him, again, before he could form a syllable, and the devil-spawn sniggered behind his back. “You should probably not talk,” she whispered to him.

“Trent,” Scheiterhaufen said, his face rippling in an unbridled, disorganized maelstrom of fury and fear and revulsion.

Without moving his unnaturally cocked head, his blue eyes shifted to look past Trent at the tiefling. “Move, Jester,” he said, voice softer and more gentle than went with the memories Trent had of his brash and eager student.

“But Caleb, he will…”

“Jester.”

Her grip eased and she darted away.

And Scheiterhaufen snapped his fingers.

And Trent Ikithon, Archmage of Civil Influence, didn’t get a chance to scream.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Scheiterhaufen_ \- Funeral Pyre (technically, I think, a pile of stakes suitable for burning people at). Because there's no way that Patriotic, Brainwashed, and Enthusiastic teenagers didn't give each other cheeky nicknames about their awesomeness and efficacy in service to the Empire.
> 
> And, because IRL is weird, _scheiterhaufen_ is also a sort of dessert. Now that's a thing you know.
> 
> I didn't mean to write this fic. Honestly, I haven't written formal fanfic since I was 12-ish and wrote a story for The Scarlet Pimpernel (which is _hilariously_ dreadful). But I started to describe something and then there was suddenly was a fic about the much-too-swift demise of Trent Ikithon. It's all Sera's fault.
> 
> Um. Enjoy?


End file.
